


Clair de Lune

by grenadinehart (CompletelyCreative)



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tumblr Prompt, prepare for tears kk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompletelyCreative/pseuds/grenadinehart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Loving you stopped being fun."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clair de Lune

**Author's Note:**

> y'ALL THIS MADE ME TEAR UP thx to th e anon who sen t that prompt from the marianas trench ok I was listening to Clair de Lune while writing the last line ok so :)))))
> 
> Anyway [Send me a prompt](http://grenadinehart.tumblr.com/tagged/literally-send-me-one-right-now)

They were six, maybe seven years old. They wouldn’t be able to remember anymore. He saved her life, or that’s what she liked to think. She was always living in a game of Pretend back then, but who wasn’t? He pulled her by the hair from a bowl full of water and apples; not really designed to drown in, but she definitely wasn’t getting apples. She thanked him and asked his name. He told her, and she tried her hardest not to laugh, because she promised. He was a vampire, he said, but she thought he was too cute. She was a princess. He felt it was just right. That was their game of pretend.

They were eleven, maybe twelve years old. They can’t pinpoint it exactly. He had undoubtedly fallen in love with her by then, but then she fell into a boy on the subway, and (quite literally) swept off of her feet. He thought the boy was nice enough for her, but he didn’t know if he deserved to have her. But he seemed to make her happy, and that was nice enough for him. As long as she was happy, he was happy. That was their game of pretend.  
But he did take a time-out on that first date on the subway. Just because.

They were fourteen. Definitely fourteen. He was fed up with her hidden feelings about the boy who maybe deserved to have her. He was fed up because she was not happy, and therefore he was not happy. Not like that really mattered. They played a game of tattle tale on New Year’s Eve, because if they didn’t then her happiness wouldn’t move. For a little bit, she wasn’t happy with him, but that was okay. Because he knew that didn’t really matter. That was their game of pretend.

They were sixteen, maybe seventeen. Age didn’t really matter back then. He was still settled deeply in love with her, but there were other things to tend to. Like his girlfriend, who he loved, but not enough. And her boyfriend, who made her happy, which was more than enough. And then prom came, and dates were absent, so they found each other again and danced. And they went home. He can remember vividly how all they did was sit on her couch and watch T.V.. They both have fuzzy memories of their first kiss that night. She can remember with crystalline vision how it was nothing more than that -- a kiss. A fuzzy kiss that may or may not have happened. That was their game of Pretend.

They were eighteen, or nineteen. Cloudy memories, they supposed. He was rearranging his room, and she was rearranging all of her cardboard boxes in order of importance. It was four years that she was going to be away, out-of-state, following her dreams and fulfilling her destiny. He offered to follow her wherever she went, but they both knew it would be a regrettable decision. Columbia was nowhere near Duke anyway. And she was pursuing her happiness. So it was okay. Nothing between them had happened anyway. They were only friends. It was only a kiss. Nothing between them happened. It was okay.

It was okay.

It was okay.

That was their game of Pretend.

They were twenty-five, they suppose. He heard that she was back in town. He forgets who he heard from. He remembers his arm was around his old high school sweetheart. He was deeply settled into love. And then she was back in town. She invited him out for coffee. She looked good. She was happy. She was with someone. He made her happy. That was enough. That was their game of Pretend. But it didn’t really feel like pretend.

They were in their thirties, it’s all they know. He gazed at her, head tilted, eyes thoughtful. He was firmly in love. The love wouldn’t budge. He tried. It was stubborn. He didn’t know if he was happy. He couldn’t tell if she was. He didn’t know if she was with someone who made her happy. He didn’t know if he was either. She squinted at him over her martini, and asked if he was still in love with her. He spoke in riddles. She laughed. That was their game of Pretend.

One day, on July 25th, on a Sunday, they cannot remember the year, he turned up at her doorstep, scruffy and disheveled, after a year and a half of silence. He was wearing an old jacket and a tired smile, and she kept the door half closed. He didn’t know if anyone was in the apartment with her, accompanying her and her fluffy purple robe. He didn’t know if he cared. He only cared about one thing.

“Why did you go?” She whispered.

“I was meant to.”

“...Do you still love me?”

“I think we both know that me loving you stopped being fun quite a while ago.”

And that was their game of Pretend.

But he still sent letters. On the first Saturday of every month.

Asking if she was happy.

Always asking, if she was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](http://grenadinehart.tumblr.com/)


End file.
